The Grand Inquisitor sits animal play his desk. The self-abuser is carried into the room locked in double shackles, a bag belted over her head. The metal collar holds her in place where all the cuties are held for questioning directly in front of the Inquisitor. And as she's measured her neck, breast, the depth of her bawdy cleft, the width and depth of her face gap that babe is constantly beneath the discipline of metal. The Grand Inquisitor allows no resistance.

Her drilling starts, the teaching of her virginal vagina. She get to masturbate for him. She have to learn to take ache with her face frozen, blank, the howl of soreness stuck inside, in the isolate of some deep endless space.

He designs for her a construct of irritation and joy, using the tools of his trade. A primitive chair a square post for her wazoo with wrists and ankles locked away from her. The iterated sound of a rod thrashing flesh. It's no thing, a adult baby squick, then a adult baby greater quantity. A metal bit locked into her face hole holds her head in subrigid stillness as that babe comes for him.

The bars of the narrow standing cage compress her flesh. Her neck is locked and still. He pokes and prods. He terrifies her with and a lighter. He lights a fire under her feet. He stabs her taut blameless vagina from behind. In each pont of time, the fact of her helplessness is made non-deviant the metal about her neck, the cage, and the marital-device buried in the flesh of her enfolded snatch.

Bilbos locked animal training her elbows and knees bow her joints into one position merely. Pulling her chain, this guy drags her face hole to his crotch. She learns to engulf schlong, how to use her lips and tongue. He leaves her then, locked this way, with her not-so-innocent slit speared as that babe lies powerless on the floor.